England's storage cleaning
by hetanessa
Summary: When America was cleaning his storage, England happened to be doing the exact same thing. His storage room, like America's, is extremely hard to clean. It contained memories both good and bad, humorous and depressing. He simply hated cleaning that room. But looking at how dusty and stuffed-up it was, he decided to give it a shot.


England's POV

I stood there staring at the storage room door._ Can I really do_ _this?_ I simply despised cleaning this room. It was not just the dust and cobwebs that got into my eyes that annoyed me nearly to death, but also the memories. Every time I tried to clean this room, countless memories would bombard me until I got a headache. Every object in there was linked to a memory. Some of which I wanted to forget. However, the more I wanted to forget them, the more they clung to my brain. It really sucked. Knowing that cleaning my storage was for the best, I took a deep breath and opened the storage door._  
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The first thing that struck me was the dust. Other than that, it was fine. _Well I guess this is what you get for not cleaning a room in centuries._The room was rather dark, with only a small kerosene lamp and window for light.I walked slowly to the nearest box and knelt in front of it. Already, I found so many things. While I was searching through it, I caught sight of a rusty hammer in the box. Almost immediately, a memory flashed through my mind...

"_Alright America. I've shown you how to make the toy soldier, now you can show me what you learnt." I said, passing young America some tools and wood. America went to work. His first soldier did not even look like a man, his second was missing an arm and his third was missing its hat. When his fourth doll was not a success either, he threw a tantrum. He screamed and shouted as he banged the hammer everywhere. Upon seeing this, I flung my arm out to stop him before he could get himself hurt. However, America suddenly turned and hit my arm with the hammer. I winced in pain. America saw this and immediately stopped hammering. He walked up to me slowly, asking me if I was okay. I nodded despite knowing that I had a fractured arm. America did not buy it. He went to take the first aid kit from the wall. However, he did not know that I had to go to the hospital to get a cast, nor did I want him to for fear that he might panic. He always associated the hospital with death for some reason._

_I used my other hand to pat his head and said to him in a gentle voice," thank you very my Alfred, but I think I could manage this on my own." That day, I snuck off to the hospital when America was taking his afternoon nap. He did look at me quizzically when he woke up to find my arm in a cast, but I just said I used the first aid kit to patch it up. I did not want him worrying about me. At night, when he was asleep, I tried with the best of my ability to make the dolls for him. It took me the whole night to make them. But I was happy with the results._

I stared at the hammer as I looked back at that time. When I finally came back to reality. I sighed, knowing that throwing it out was for the best, it could hurt someone _badly. _Summoning up all my willpower, I threw it into the garbage bag.

After a while, I finally filtered through that box of memories. I switched to another one. This one, like that last, was also filled with memories. A shield from the hundred years war(still cannot believe I lost to that frog), a pirate hat and many others. I worked like a robot, taking and shoving the items into the garbage bag. _don't dwell in the past, don't let memories in._ I told myself repeatedly. I was doing this successfully until I pulled out an exercise book. It had 'America" written on the cover with child-like handwriting. I wanted to yet couldn't bear to put it into the bag. As expected, I was seized by a memory.

_" America, that is not how the word 'colour' is spelt, it has a 'u' in it" I said, clearly losing patience. However, America still spelt it as c-o-l-o-r. He could be so stubborn sometimes! Well, at least he was better that some of my other colonies who could not even write English. He was fine with most English words, but some of them would have some minor changes. A new letter here, removed letters there and occasionally replaced letters. It was frustrating, but I let it be. Countries have their own mindsets and sometimes you could not change it. So I went along with it. At least it was still English._

I was pulled out of the memory this time by a roar of thunder. _Looks like it's going to rain._ Just then, there was a flash of lightning which illuminated the room a bit more. But enough to make me notice a red coat hanging on the wall. There was no doubt that it was from...that time. The memory tugged at me, but I resisted. I did not want to be reminded of that. It was probably the war I hated the most. I lost him as a colony and a brother. The more I resisted however, the more it tugged at me. Finally, I resisted no more and gave in to it._  
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End file.
